RPlog:Temple Spirits
The acoustics in the hangar are not ideal for having private conversations, and right now it is playing host to a deep, gravelly voice. The tone of the voice seems like it is trying to keep quiet, but that's utterly impossible, and it is instead magnified to many times its actual volume. "I'm tellin ye' Bill," it says, "they'll know somethin' about him here. Don't ye fret." The voice is accompanied by syncopated footsteps, or at least, one step and one loud clunk. Oh, Azya caught it, and the spy was easy going enough that she took it precisely as it was meant. As a joke. "Revenge is best served cold," she quips as she turns her attention back forward. "Heading? Oh, no where in particular. I'm still getting used to not having my days planned for me, truth be told. The choices are...a bit overwhelming, even after such a short time as a slave." "I dunno, Jack," the quarren's partner replies, looking around the cavernous space. "This be a funny kind of temple. Not like back home. This place gives me the creeps. Me can feel the spirits here. They be angry! There are no offerings to them in this temple! It be the wrong type. Thar be only a short time until they do something. Maybe the unholy black will come from the sky and try to devour us here too!" A shudder runs up the calamari's spine as he speaks. "This better be worth it." "I ran into that after Kessel," Enb'Zik replies matter-of-factly to Azya, nodding. It had been an odd adjustment to come out of prison and not spend day after day deep in mines where only his eyes -- and none of the other prisoners -- could see. He starts to elaborate when the pair of rough, unfamiliar voices in an accent he's not familiar with draws his attention and eyes both. The Sullustan doesn't speak initially, watching in more than one way while the gap separating the Dac duo from himself and Azya narrows. "Bill, no one cares abou' yer spirits! It don't matter what sort o' temple they're in, 'cause they don't exsist!" The quarren swings his large arm almost absently, smacking his companion in the back of the head and causing his jaunty head kerchief to go askew. "I just want to get some information, an' then we c'n be off and ye won' have to be here anymore, a'right? Hold yourself together 'til then." Jack's eyes fall upon the conversing pair, and his lipless mouth spreads into a grin, "Ahoy there, mateys. Sorry to disturb ye, but th' door was open." Which isn't true, precisely, but that's a detail that's clearly too small for the quarren to acknowledge. Rather like Enb'zik, Azya's part in the conversation is put on hold as she too looks in the directino of the rough voices, eyebrows lifting as she tries to get a better look at the pair. She murmurs quietly to Zik as she watches them, listening to their private conversation that floats over in their direction. Bill grunts to himself as Salty_Jack not only mocks his religion, but also knocks his perfectly placed bandana off his head. But beyond this, he doesn't argue, instead simply reaching up to adjust the kerchief. But it of no use, and he pulls it completely off his head, revealing salmon-colored skin, much lighter than the sun-baked redness of the rest of his face. "Aye, let's do it and get out of 'ere." He fixes his eyes on the two who Jack addresses, looking impatient. To whatever Azya says to him so quietly, Enb'Zik nods his response before taking a step forward in Jack's direction. Truth be told, the front area of the Jedi Temple /is/ open to the public. It's the stairwell to the second level that someone must have left unwatched, but it's something that can be looked into later. Without answering that issue, Enb'Zik dips his head and watches Bill a moment as the Mon Calamari speaks. "We'll endeavor to make your visit as short as possible," he responds evenly, adding, "If it suits you. The disturbance is negligible. How can I be of assistance to you, Gentlemen?" Moving only after Enb'Zik does, the blue silk of her dress swishing ever so softly as she moves, the twi'lek eyes the two men quietly as she offers a faint, distant smile. For now, she simply listens, appearing to be little more than hanging on the fringes just to see what happens. The quarren shoots a look at Bill, raising his brow ridges as though to indicate, 'see?' at Enb'zik's assurances that their stay need not be extended. He then turns back to the sullustan, spreading his arms wide in a friendly gesture as he says, "Well, y'see, we're lookin' fer some information on a strange character we met a while ago." These words are somewhat laughable, coming from one as strange as this quarren, but he doesn't seem to see anything amiss, and simply continues, "He had one o' those...y'know...light sticks," he says, miming a downward slice, "with th', y'know, hum an' the...what're those called, Bill?" Bill screws up his face in face, starting to relax a little with the assurances that they would be on their way soon. "Glow schimitars? Shine sabers?" The calamari trails off and just shrugs helplessly. "He were the spittin' image of the Dread Pirate Threepwood though, all in dark capes. Called 'imself a Sith, like it made him better'n'us." Bill spits superstitiously on the hangar floor, just for speaking the name Threeptree aloud. The mention of lightsabers is common enough to be mostly unremarkable for Enb'Zik as Jack does his best to come up with the word, and the Sullustan nods silently to indicate he knows what the quarren is talking about even as Bill makes his own attempt. The word play draws several more nods of understanding before the calamari goes on finally. "I'm afraid I'm not familiar with the Dread Pirate Threeptree," Enb'Zik states, keeping his manner reserved, on the verge of standoffish but carefully not so. "Could you enlighten my ignorance of starborne piratry?" His interest in the story is more than he makes obvious. Shaking his head, which causes his mouth tentacles to quiver as though in a gentle breeze, Jack clarifies, "No, no, it weren't him. Don' listen ter Bill, he's too superstitious fer his own good." He pushes his hat back from his brow slightly, rearranging it on his head, somewhat ill-shaped for this sort of wear. "He were just human, an', ye know, ye can't tell one from t'other. But he were wearin' this big, black cloak," and here he spreads his arms wide again, but this time for emphasis, and sort of flaps them so that he looks like some giant, strangely shaped and adorned bird, "an' it were flappin' all 'round him, an' he had one o' those things." He doesn't try to come up with the word again, seeing that Zik understands him. "He said he were a Sith. Those Sith, they're like you lads, right?" Of course, he doesn't know the Force or non-Force status of either of the two strangers, but he gestures around the temple, indicating his more general meaning. Bill shoots Jack a disgruntled look from a step behind him, so he is sure to get away with this sort of insubordination. Sufficiently hushed, the calamari begins to fiddle with the bandana now in his hands, untying the knot that held it to his head, placing it upon his head, and trying to find a way to make it stay, despite the lumpiness of his cranium. "Arrr," he utters agreeingly but not happily at Jack's description. "The Sith and the Jedi both possess the ability to touch the Force," Enb'Zik concedes, "but the similarity ends there. Our philosophies on its use differ greatly." The Sullustan's voice is even, and he realizes that trying to explain anything more complex than that would be lost on the pair. He moves on, "He wore a black cloak, then. Where were you when you encountered him?" Ikihsa casts a gaze toward Bill's attempt to refasten the swatch of cloth to his uneven pate, then looks back once more to Jack for information. Vengan glances over his shoulder at the small encounter, an eyebrow raised. He returns to his discussion with the local head of security, going over a datapad with the woman. "Righ', righ'," the captain says, waving off the explanation before the sullustan even reaches his stopping point, obviously not too interested in the details. "Well, he had some o' those abilities, makin' his cloack wave about even though there weren't no wind." He doesn't seem too happy talking about this, clearly more comfortable with things rooted in the mundane world. "We saw him on Tat," he says, hooked tentacle reaching up of its own accord to stratch the side of his face lightly, "Outside the cantina, it were, right, Bill?" Bill looks up from tending to his bandana at the sound of his name. "Aye, Captain," he agrees, giving his default response, though he was not entirely sure what it was he had just agreed to. Hopefully it was not to spend three days in the Jedi temple. Bill was getting antsy as it was, demonstrated by the way he changes his weight from foot to foot constantly. Sally swaggers into the hanger area of the temple with wide eyes. There is an air of fake confidence about her as if she's waiting for someone to stop her and tell her to leave any minute now even though she thinks this is the right place. That little starport rat that gave her the message seemed trustworthy. If he ain't, he'll certainly have a story to tell when she's done with him. A smile crosses her face and her metal tooth glints. "Cap'n Jack! Barnacle Bill!" She calls and approaches, not at all concerned that they are in the middle of a conversation. There had been more than one reason Enb'Zik hadn't tried explaining any more about Jedi philosophy than the non-explanation he'd already -- barely -- managed. "Tatooine," he questions, looking intrigued, "And there's nothing more you recall about him than his clothing and lightsaber?" As the voice of a human rings out, naming the woman as a compatriot of the two from Dac, the Sullustan looks toward her, then back at them, "Would she have recognized more details about him, given she's human, as well?" Walking a few meters behind Sally, the ever gruff one, Grizz follows behind with a waft of cigar smoke and the slight servo-hissing of his droid hand's fingers on the front of a databad. "Aw I know someone Jawa'd this now. This thing's a karking piece of junk." He grumbles, tapping the screen a few times. As the captain hears his name, he turns, his gaze falling on his two faithful crew members. "Sally! Grizz! I see ye got me message, then." Apparently those chadra-fan had been worth something, after all. He waves them over, but then turns back to Zik, and shakes his head, "Nay, matey, she weren't there. But..." and he narrows his eyes, scrunching his forehead as he tries to remember something else about the rather ominous apparition, "he looked...old." This is said decisively, and he continues, "Aye, old, wi' white in his hair. Black hair wi' white streaks." Jack's voice takes on a more assured tone, "Ye c'n be sure o' that, matey." Bill gives a hearty bow to the wench arriving in the hangar bay, and a nod of greeting, but not of recognition to the other creature. Turning back to the sullustan, he says, "She weren't there. Only us." Something in Jack's description strikes a memory in Bill's mind, and he reports, "He also had a big sword. Not the light one," he says, waving his arms as Jack had done earlier, "But a big one. On his back." The sword had struck him as memorable, even if the human's face had not. This is useful information, and as Jack recalls and begins to recount, followed by Bill, the Sullustan crosses his arms over his chest again and listens with clear interest. Though he doesn't recognize the individual described personally, he harbors no doubt that Luke will. Spreading his hands, he apologizes, "I'm afraid I can't offer you any information regarding who the person is. I can't place what you're telling me, but there are others who can." He turns his gaze toward each of them in turn as Sally and Grizz make their way over, as if waiting for them to acknowledge that would be enough. "Unless there is something else?" Finishing her walk across the hanger, Sally arrives at the group clustered in conversation. She doesn't have anything to add yet. So she doesn't offer anything, not even her name. Well, she doesn't have to offer her name, Jack's done that for her. Happy to just listen in, she waits. "Nay, that's it," Jack concedes, reaching a suctioned hand up and running it down along his mouth tentacles. "Well, thank ye for yer time, matey," he says, as though being told that no information could be offered was enough to assuage whatever fears had been preying on his mind. "Sorry ter bother ye. I'd better get Bill outta here afore he gets possessed by one o' his spirit things." He chuckles, tapping his first mate lightly on the shoulder and motioning to the rest of his crew. "C'mon, mates," he says, and begins to walk out in the direction he came from with his rolling, uneven gait. With the conversation now finished, and Jack turning to leave, Bill all but bolts for the entrance. Of course, the calamari does not actually run, for he does not want to appear cowardly in front of the rest of the crew, but he does walk quickly, all the while throwing out exclamations like, "By the hairy ocean, it be smelly in here. Bill will meet ye stragglers outside!" It is not until he is actually outside that the calamari stops and turns around to wait for the rest With a shallow bow at the waist, Enb'Zik dips his head in salutation. "It's no bother at all," he replies. Then with a glance at Azya adds, "In fact, I would be happy to escort you back down to the lobby. I hope you'll feel free to ask for me there if you recall anything in the future or would like to drop by for another reason." The way he offers it sounds like an invitation, though one might take it as an instruction not to come up unescorted, if they stretched just a little further. As the quartet turns to go, led by Jack, the amiable Sullustan doesn't seem inclined to accept any arguments otherwise.